Skyrim Belongs to the English
by SMGoodwin
Summary: Steven had enjoyed every title in the Elder Scrolls series so far and couldn't wait to get his hands on Skyrim, but little did he know that he was about to find himself thrown into the middle of the civil war-torn land. Befriending the Dragonborn, the two set out on a quest to bring peace to the land, but unbeknownest to them, Steven hadn't been pulled into Skyrim by accident.
1. Snow on the Ground

The young man parked his behind in his office chair excitedly as he spun around to face his computer; the moment he had been waiting for ever since he had started installing the game last night had arrived. It was time. Double clicking the Steam icon in his system tray, launching Skyrim for the first time, waiting for that soundtrack to start. He had awoken in a hurry, devoured his breakfast, ignored his roommates' requests and come straight to his computer. He had waited long enough.

A few hours had passed and he was deeply enthralled in the game, he had ignored anyone who had tried to interrupt his session and was journeying across the vast tundra of Winterhold on his way to Windhelm to join up with the Stormcloaks. Throughout his playtime, he had already fought the Draugr, killed a dragon, joined the Companions and learned of the evil that was the Empire. He knew that the Stormcloaks were the people to back in this Civil War, no one else would come out on top. His character reached the crest of a hill, Windhelm coming into view as he did so and he leaned away from his computer screen and looked at his clock; it was already gone midnight. "Fuck." All he had had to eat that day was a sandwich someone had left beside him at some point. He stretched his arms above his head, brushing a lock of his hair off of his forehead as he did so and closed his eyes.

Suddenly something changed; there was a strange noise, then he shivered. A draft? But his window was closed. He opened his eyes to find himself, not in his room, but on the edge of a large forest clearing with a campsite situated in the middle. What the hell had just happened? Did he really fall asleep that fast? He headed towards the encampment, shaking his head to clear it as he did so; if this was a dream, it was the the most intense, most real, dream he had ever had, he might as well go with it. Trudging through the snow, he thought about how, if this was a dream surely he wouldn't be wearing the exact same clothes that he had been wearing before and he would be wearing something more appropriate for the snow than socks, though at this point he may as well have been barefoot. The wind whistled through the trees and voices reached his ears as he neared the camp, thick accents that he couldn't quite place. He walked around a tent to find himself in the middle of what looked like a medieval reenactment; dyed blue leather armour, swords and shields, bows and arrows.

"Excuse me gents, I don't suppose you could inform me whereabouts we are?" Suddenly the air was alive with the sounds of weapons being drawn and loud yells as he was surrounded by at least a dozen soldiers, men and women. "Woah woah woah people, calm down, there's no need for this now is there?" A burly soldier stepped up to him and placed his sword underneath the young man's chin. "Ouch, that hur-"

"Silence!" The soldier pressed the sword against his throat. "Who are you and what are you doing here?!"

"Well, I was just out for a leisurely walk when I misplaced my shoes and stumbled across your camp here." The young man chuckled, instantly regretting that decision as he winced from the pain of the swordpoint pressing deeper into his throat, feeling a trickle of blood start to run down his neck.

"Lies! The truth, or I will be the last thing you see before I run this sword through your neck!" The young man's mind raced, this sword was really sharp. And it hurt. A lot. But you aren't supposed to get hurt in dreams, that whole "pinch yourself to see if you're dreaming thing", which means that if this wasn't a dream, it must be…

"Okay, listen, I don't know how I got here, one minute I was at home and the next I was on the edge of the clearing. Honest!" His eyes darted around looking for a friendly face, maybe someone would take pity on him, when they caught a glimpse of a symbol on one of the shields being pointed at him; it was a bear, just like the one the Stormcloaks used in Skyrim. Then the stupidest idea he had ever had entered his head: "I want to join!" A murmur rippled around the circle as another soldier entered the area.

"Rorngar! What is the meaning of this?!" This soldier's armour was different, there was more to it and with the way the other soldiers regarded him, it was clear that this man was some kind of officer.

"This man infiltrated the camp and claims he wants to join our cause, sir." The first soldier withdrew his sword as he stood to attention.

"Is that so?" The second man walked over to the young man and peered at him. "What is your name man?"

"Steven. And I do wish to join your cause sir."

"Steven… What kind of name is Steven?" He laughed out loud before resuming the interrogation. "And where did you come from Steven?"

"England sir." He gulped, hoping that his hunch was correct. It was the best chance he had of getting out of this alive.

"Never heard of it, somewhere in High Rock I presume." He took one last glance at the quivering figure and walked out of the circle. "Lock him up, I'll take him to Windhelm when I leave at first light." Steven sighed with relief before being rough housed into a tent and having shackles thrust onto his wrists; being locked up was better than having a sword shoved through your throat any day of the week. He leaned against one of the hide sides of the tent and sighed; this was, apparently, really happening; he was in Skyrim, a captive of the Stormcloaks. How on Earth had this happened? Sighing, he decided to try and get some sleep, he was going to need it. As voices once again filled the air as tents flapped in the wind and an animal bleated in the distance, Steven slipped into a restless sleep on the hard ground, in wet socks.

Rorngar and the officer sat by the fire discussing the strange man in the tent, and his strange attire. He had no visible weapons and certainly did not dress like a mage. Mayhaps he was an assassin? No, he had made himself far too obvious for that. One thing was clear though, he was a threat now that he knew of this camp. If the Imperials learned of it's whereabouts and it's purpose, it could be the end of the entire operation.

A white fox happened across the trail through the snow heading to the camp and followed the strange scent back to the edge of the clearing where it stopped dead before turning and bolting in the opposite direction; a shadowy figure stood just out of sight of the camp, in the treeline, cursing. At least his spell had worked, but the damn Stormcloaks had taken the fool of a man prisoner, and now he had to deal with him.

* * *

Dawn broke over the forest with the sun's rays piercing through the trees, and Steven was awoken by a pair of boots being thrown on his face. "Get up!" The guard grunted before heading back to the fire. The young man blinked as he struggled to get up and glanced at the boots he had been given; they weren't much better than his socks honestly, thin leather things, and one had a hole it in. He sighed, and spent the next couple of minutes trying to shove his feet into them with his hands still in shackles. Still half asleep, he stumbled out of the tent to see the officer from last night readying two horses, while barking orders at his men. "Rorngar, you're to make sure the mission carries on as planned and to send a messenger the instant something happens." The burly man acknowledged the order before noticing the prisoner and nodding in his direction. The officer turned and beckoned that his second-in-command should leave. "Well now, look who decided to join us. Yours is the chestnut, we ride immediately." Jumping into the saddle, Steven attempted to do likewise and fell flat on his face resulting in the camp erupting into uproarious laughter. "Someone help the fool up." Two pairs of leather clad hands heaved Steven out of the snow and into the saddle as the officer set off, before slapping the rear of his horse and insulting him until he had left the clearing.

The path they were following through the trees was narrow and every so often, Steven glimpsed a wild animal or two disappear as they approached. There was little snow on the ground here, the canopy above them stopped any real amount from reaching the ground. For at least an hour, the man in front said nothing, the only sounds were the sounds of the horse's' footfalls on the earth, the occasional wild animal, the odd bird singing and the wind rustling the tree branches as they passed by, but suddenly he blurted out a single word. "Frield."

"Excuse me?" Steven wasn't sure if he had misheard him, or if he was even talking to him.

"My name. It's Frield." The soldier shifted in his saddle. "You told me your name, it's only fair that I should also tell you mine. Now, we're going to be on our own for a few hours at least, might as well get some things off of your chest."

"I'm… I'm not sure what you mean." He shivered. Why was it so God damned cold here?

"Well, you're obviously not a Nord. Why would a Breton want to join the Stormcloaks? How did you get out to the camp without a horse? It's clear you aren't a mage, otherwise you wouldn't of let us lock you up as easy as we did, and you definitely wouldn't have stayed over night. I have never seen an attire such as yours, and you're walking around in the snow without boots?" He laughed as they neared the edge of the forest. "Either you're the worst assassin ever, or you're the village idiot of this… Englund? You spoke of." He left the forest and trotted onto the road, heading east.

"Or I'm neither." Steven steered his horse to follow Frield's. "Maybe I'm just a lost traveller who happened to stumble across your camp." A deafening roar echoed through the mountains, shaking snow loose from the trees and causing birds to take flight. "What.. What was that?" His voice showing the slightest hint of unease.

"Shor's bones. I have no idea." The Stormcloak seemed even more unsettled by the sound than he did. "We should get to the city as soon as we can." With that, he gallopped off down the road, and Steven attempted to follow. After a couple of minutes of trying everything he could think of, his horse finally seemed to get the message when another roar shattered the still air and sent it galloping off after Frield.

They galloped past ruins, caves and shacks, eventually reaching a rushing river. They followed the water for what seemed like an eternity, every so often another roar disrupting the otherwise still air. Whatever creature was making the noise seemed to be following them, and if Steven was correct, then they did not want it to catch them. Eventually the Nord started slowing down as they approached a familiar looking group of buildings. As they reached them, Steven realised why they had looked so familiar: it was the same hill he had reached the top of before he had found himself in the clearing the night before; Windhelm sat before them, sprawled out behind it's walls along the coast. "We've made good time. I'm taking you to Jarl Ulfric, he'll know what to do with you." Frield glanced behind him at the young man who had a pained expression on his face and looked extremely uncomfortable. From the way he was acting, you'd think he had never ridden horseback before, but before the older man could process the information another roar bellowed overhead followed by the sound of wings. Huge wings. "Ysmir's beard!" Steven could barely hear the exclamation over the sound of the beast that had just crested the mountain. It was a terror to behold, huge beyond anything he could have ever imagined, even at this distance. But he had been correct; it had been a dragon chasing them all this time, except now it was heading for the city.

Frield turned to face Steven with a strange look on his face. "I assume you know how to use a sword and bow?"

Steven had a bemused look on his face l when he replied. "Well, yes, I know the concept, but I've never actually-"

"Good enough," the Nord interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "The city guard are going to need all that help they can get, no one even thought dragons existed, let alone fought one before." He unlocked the shackles and threw them onto the side of the road, where they sank into the snow. "There will be spare weapons down there. Come." He started to head down the hill toward the city. "Let's go kill a dragon."

* * *

"So it was a success?" A wizened old elf stood upon a balcony overlooking the lake, the shadowy figure dressed in robes loomed behind him, almost completely obscured by the darkness grunted his acknowledgement. "Good, good. Where is he now?" The figure seemed unsettled by the question, murmuring and answer that the elf did not seem to hear. "You'll have to speak up, I am not as young as I once was."

"He was taken by the Stormcloaks. High chance he is being brought before Ulfric as we speak." For a moment, it seemed as though the elf had not heard him again but he turned around, slowly. There was a fire in his eyes, and suddenly he was no longer the wizened elf he had been moments before, but a powerful mage as belongings started to fly across the room. The mysterious figure had his work cut out for him just dodging the projectiles.

"The last we heard the Dovahkiin was headed for Windhelm!" His voice thundering out across the lake. "The last thing we need is for the two of them to meet!" Thunderclouds gathered above their heads as lightning struck the ground around the building. The air was alive with the buzz of magical energy, enough to knock a Giant off it's feet. Then suddenly it was gone as the old mage suddenly calmed; the clouds dissipated, the lake calmed and objects that had been in motion a second earlier dropped to the floor. He turned to face the figure standing behind him. "You know what must be done. Go."


	2. Here Be Dragons (Part 1)

_Author's Note: To Koal; you are correct, Englishmen do have an accent, but Frield did comment on it, albeit it was more of a passing comment. When Steven mentions that he's from England, Frield mentions that he's never heard of the place and assumes that it's somewhere in High Rock, the homeland of the Bretons. Since both Bretons and Imperials have English accents, I'm playing around with the fact that people assume he's from one or the other._

 _Author's Note #2: Due to my lack of motivation to do literally anything, it actually takes me five million years to sit down and actually write. Due to this, chapter two will be in two parts. This is the first._

As they approached the city, Steven heard faint battle cries in the wind, accompanied by terrifying screams and the smell of burning flesh. The Nord ahead of him kicked the side of his horse, increasing his speed, galloping onward hastily, obviously urged on by the death cries of his comrades. The dragon swooped past them, the gust of wind from it's wings nearly blowing Steven off his horse as it flew back up towards the mountain, dropping what was left of a soldier's body still adorned with his armour out of his claws directly in their path, causing their horses to rear up in fear, bucking Steven off and onto the ground, before the beast and his horse disappeared from sight. Frield shot a disapproving glare at the grounded man, reaching out a helping hand. "Come. We shall not have long to rally with the defenders before it returns." Steven struggled to his feet, grasping the Nord's hand, struggling to climb on as Frield spurred his horse back to full speed.

They arrived at the gates of the city, smoke billowing into the grey sky as buildings burned from within the walls. Soldiers rushed around them, some yelling orders, others helping the wounded as they screamed from the burns adorning their bodies. Both men dismounted, Frield rushing to another soldier as Steven gazed up and down the bridge, feelings of disgust and horror flooded him as the odour of burnt flesh flooded his nostrils. Corpses littered the stone cobbles of the walkway while men and women tended to the wounds of those still alive as best they could. It all became too much for him as he twisted around to lean over the edge. His throat constricted, leaving him gasping for breath as he heaved, green bile falling into the inky water below in tiny chunks as the icy wind blew a glob onto his cheek. Straightening up and turning to sit on the rough edge, he brought his arm up to wipe the chunk of saliva and vomit off of his face when he noticed an odd symbol on the back of his palm. Had that been there before? He shook off the bewilderment, shoving the puzzling image to the back of his mind as he stood up and made his way towards the two Nords.

Frield had glimpsed the young man retching out of the corner of his eye as he talked with his companion, sighing. This boy was greener than a fresh cabbage, how in Talos' name was he supposed to help them fight another man, let alone this dragon. As Steven approached the pair of soldiers, he could hear them discussing the best form of defense; Frield wanted to stay where they were, better have the city walls to protect them than be out in the open, while his comrade wanted to do the opposite and take the fight to the beast instead of waiting for it to come to them. He hung back while the duo argued it out, trying not to breathe in the smell of death around him. Instead, he gazed at the gates to the city, the ornate stone eagle heads looming over them like eternal watchmen. In fact, as his gaze wandered along the rest of the walls, there were several more eagle heads protruding above the battlements. Whoever had originally built the city seemed to have had a morbid obsession with the birds. Frield's deep voice cut through his musings as he called his name. "Steven! Get over here, boy."

"Steven? What kind of name is that?"

"I'm not a boy." Steven muttered under his breath, opening his mouth as little as possible to avoid throwing up again as he moved closer to the burly pair.

"He's from the island of Een-gland," Frield stated with a hint of disapproval.

"Never heard of it."

"It's England," Steven corrected, "Not Een-gland."

"The boy has an elven accent," the strange Nord muttered, regarding Steven with a look of disdain.

"That may be so Galmar, but he seems to be as human as you and I." An all too familiar roar echoed down through the mountain peaks as Frield turned to the young man. "You do know how to use one of these?" Gesturing at a pile of bows to the side of them, quivers filled with arrows tossed into a nearby pile.

"Uh, yeah. Of course." Steven answered quickly, not wanting to seem even more out of place. He wandered over and grabbed a fairly long bow, quickly dropping it again as he felt a stabbing pain shoot through the palm of his hand. "Ow, fuck!" Yelling, he looked down at the affected hand to see a giant splinter lodged firmly beneath his thumb. Pulling it out with his other hand before wiping the blood away on his shirt, he bent down and retrieved his weapon before grabbing a quiver. Arming the bow, he took aim at a passing bird before letting the arrow loose. It promptly landed on the ground in front of his feet. A loud boisterous guffaw came from behind him as he heard Frield curse under his breath.

"Of course he knows how to use a bow!" The Nord named Galmar bellowed between bouts of laughter. "Maybe you should teach your child to use a wooden sword before giving him a grown up's weapon!" He strode off to rally his men, still chuckling under his breath as Frield glared at Steven.

"Okay, okay, that went badly, but I can do this, I've done this before, I'm just not feeling great." Steven gushed excuses to the soldier who said nothing and just strode off after Galmar, eager to get the defenses set back up. "Come on Steven, focus." This time he had to aim for something a bit closer to home, something a bit more stationary. Glancing around, he noticed a small tree growing off the side of the cliff, blowing gently in the wind. Once more he armed his weapon, aimed at his target and fired. The arrow whistled through the air, bouncing off of the cliff several feet away from the tree. "Fuck." He notched another arrow to his bow, getting ready to fire it at his target again when a large commotion interrupted him. A tremendous roar deafened him so much that the following shout was about as necessary as a warning label on a campfire.

"DRAGON!" Soldiers along the battlements started notching arrows into their bows as civilians tending to the wounded rushed inside the gates, carrying as many as they could before they were slammed shut. Steven was still recovering from the first roar when a second almost sent him reeling as Frield approached him.

"You better be a quick study, boy." He yelled as he took ahold of Steven's arm, leading him back to join the ranks of soldiers standing at the gates. "ARCHERS READY!" He yelled as the beast approached the city. Steven notched his arrow and raised his bow, waiting for the fire command. Struggling to keep the bow aimed upwards, he glanced around at the soldiers standing at his sides who seemed to be perfectly fine with the situation. I guess dragon attacks are commonplace around here. "ARCHERS FIRE!" The command came out of the blue to Steven, who had been preoccupied with his fellow archers. The dragon flew straight overhead, breathing fire down upon several soldiers on the battlements, leading to screams of pain and more burnt flesh. Steven swallowed back the urge to gag again when he heard Frield's voice cry out once more. "ARCHERS READY!" Just like that, they were ignoring their downed comrades. He didn't know if he felt more disgusted or surprised. He fumbled around in his quiver to get another arrow out when he dropped them all out onto the ground. He dropped onto his knees and scrambled to pick them up and shove them back into the quiver when he heard a new voice thunder out from above him.

"STAND FIRM MEN! WE WILL SHOW THIS DRAGON THAT THE STORMCLOAKS WILL FACE ANY FOE IN BATTLE AND WIN!" The voice was deeper than any other he had heard, almost more powerful, as if the very words he spoke held a kind of magic. "FOR SKYRIM! FOR THE NORDS! STORMCLOAKS!" The soldiers were rallied by the sound of the voice and all called out as one voice in reply.

"FOR SKYRIM! FOR THE NORDS! FOR ULFRIC STORMCLOAK!"

"ARCHERS READY!" Frield's voice seemed almost lackluster after the inspiration Steven had felt from the previous speaker's. The dragon swooped back around to the front of the city as the second call came. "ARCHERS FIRE!" Again, the arrows fell short, but the dragon stopped in mid air, as if entranced by something.

"NI-SE-VUS?" A thundering shout emanated from it's mouth. Steven was taken by surprise. Was that a word it said? And was it looking straight at him? Why did he suddenly feel like the only person standing against this thing? A shiver ran down his spine, causing him to drop his bow and back away slowly. Whatever the reason for this feeling of immense unease, he wanted to get as far away from that thing as possible.

"FUS-RO-DAH!" A shout as deafening as the dragon's suddenly rang out as Steven noticed a singular arrow fly towards the beast, faster than should have been physically possible, bursting through the dragon's chest in a shower of blood. Before he could even comprehend what had happened, the dragon fell to the ground, landing in the river just east of the cobblestone walkway. A strange white light filled the air, seemingly streaming from the corpse below them and as Steven ran to the edge, he could not believe his eyes; the corpse was disintegrating, the flesh vanishing into thin air, leaving nothing but a bare skeleton behind. The soldiers started to cheer as the reality sunk in; the dragon was defeated, but Steven couldn't shake the feeling of unease he had felt beforehand. The dragon had seemed to be burning a hole straight through him, but why him of all people? He was just a guy who played video games. Then he noticed the figure walking towards them across the bridge. The lights seemed to be flowing directly towards them.

* * *

Frida yanked her sword out of the bandit's chest and sighed as she looked around at the corpses littering the ruins. It was hard to believe that it had been nearly a month since the series of events leading up to today had occurred. From the moment those damn Imperials had stopped her at the border and hauled her into that cart, all the way through the Helgen incident, up to killing that dragon, she was honestly surprised she was still alive. And now she was killing bandits just for a bit of gold. She pulled the scrap of paper with the bounty scrawled on it from under her armour, peering at it in the dim light before yanking the cowering survivor's head up by his hair as he yelped in pain; it was definitely the guy she was after. Raising her sword, she cleaved his squealing head from his shoulders, his body slumping to the rocky ground of the cave she was standing in. Sighing, she threw the head towards the mouth of the cave as she looked around for anything worth looting, spotting a chest in the shadows.

The Nord walked to the back of the cave and carefully inspected the chest for booby traps before kicking it roughly. It remained closed. Grumbling to herself, she slung her backpack to the ground and rummaged around for her tools, finally finding them at the bottom, among the various jewels and bounty scrolls shoved in there. Kneeling in front of the keyhole, she gently inserted the lockpick and juggled around, praying to Talos that they hadn't managed to get their hands on an old Dwemer lock; bloody dwarves made their locks to keep themselves out for sure, almost impossible to pick.

She finally heard a clunk as the tumblers fell into place and let out a sigh of relief as she opened the chest. It was empty but for an unusual looking cube not much bigger than the palm of her hand with raised corners and large, strange rune-like symbols adorning the sides. The entire surface of the object was covered with a glowing blue script that seemed to trail itself around the cube. Frida found herself mesmerised by the movement for a while before shaking her head clear and stuffing it into her pack; it had got to be worth something to someone.

Gathering herself, she left the cave, stepping over the corpses of the bandit scum that had previously occupied it, and made her way down the hill back towards the road where she had left her steed tied to a sparse tree, growing defiantly among the rocks. Glancing at the darkening sky as she mounted the horse, she sighed and nudged the animal onward; maybe she would find another cave to stay the night further down the road, clearing those bandits had proven more troublesome than she had been led to believe.

After a couple of hours of eventless trotting, she noticed an outcropping slightly ahead of her that should provide enough shelter for the night. "C'mon Frost." She nudged the horse up the slope before dismounting and leading him in on foot. After reaching the small cave, she found a rock that had formed pointing upwards to tie Frost to before looking around the entrance for small twigs and branches to start a fire. A few minutes later, she placed the disappointing amount of kindling she had gathered in the centre of the small enclosure and attempted to focus on one of the spells Farengar had taught her. She could hear his frustrated voice as she had failed to grasp the basic concept of the magic he was attempting to teach.

"No, you must feel the magic, much as you do the thu'um. Feel the flames in your hands and they shall appear." She hadn't even been able to conjure a spark, let alone a flame, when they had been together in his rooms at Dragonsreach. Eventually giving up with her, he had dismissed Frida, telling her she must practise if she had any hope of mastering the arcane arts. So here she was, cold, hungry, and tired, tensing her arms towards the small pile of wood with her eyes squeezed shut when she suddenly caught the wiff of smoke. Peeking through one eye, she saw the thin stream of flames flowing from her hands setting the kindling alight, causing her to gasp with surprise and leap to her feet, instantly extinguishing the magical flames, leaving the campfire burning gently, spreading a flickering light into the inky darkness. She sighed with relief as she turned to rummage around in her pack for her supplies, pulling out a foul smelling package wrapped in cloth. She grimaced as she unwrapped it, revealing the black meat within. Skeever meat tasted as good as it smelled, but it was cheap, and until she turned in some of these bounties, it was all she could afford, so it would have to do. Spearing it on the end of her sword, she cooked it over the small fire, her mind wandering to the war, more specifically, Ulfric Stormcloak and Ralof; if it hadn't been for them, she never would have gotten out of Helgen alive. Maybe she should take Ralof up on his offer and visit the Stormcloaks in Windhelm at some point.

A crack of thunder from outside shattered her thoughts as Frost whinnied in fright. She stopped cooking her dinner as she stood and walked towards the mouth of the cave; a lightning bolt in the distance lit the sky as if it were the middle of the day, rain started to fall, pattering against the rocks and Frida sighed. It was going to be a long night. She walked back into the cave to settle the jittery horse before reluctantly digging into her meal and lying down to try to catch some sleep; they had a long journey before them. Thoughts and memories swirled around her head, fighting the dragon, learning to use the Thu'um with the Greybeards, struggling to grasp the magic that Farengar was trying to teach at Dragonsreach. With that last thought lingering in her mind, she drifted off to the sound of bellowing mammoths in the distance.

* * *

After a restless night where her sleep was punctuated by the combination of thunder and Frost's panicked neighing, she awoke as the sun streamed into the cave through gaps in leftover clouds. Looking around the cave blearily, she stretched while mentally planning her route to Windhelm. She had to turn in the bounties, so she may as well stop off at Whiterun first and get some supplies. That meant visiting Belethor's, the thought of which made her shiver. The man physically repulsed her. Such a slimy little weasel, he would do anything if it meant turning a profit, even selling his own sister. Sighing, she saddled Frost before leading her out the cave, back down towards the path and plodding towards Whiterun in the distance..

An hour after setting off, she passed by the Western Watchtower, where the bones of the dragon she slayed still lying in a field not far away. A group of soldiers were overseeing the reconstruction of the tower, most of the men working on clearing the debris from the road, while the others replaced the missing stones. The reaction to her passing was mixed, some soldier's hailing the Dovahkiin, others shooting furtive looks her way. It mattered little to her, was she supposed to care what some strangers thought of her? She was the same person she had always been, just with some fancy powers now. She urged Frost into a canter when she noticed a giant disturbingly close to the city walls. As she got closer, she heard the yells of men and women coming from the same direction and she pushed her steed onwards.

She reached the edge of Pelagia Farm and jumped down, rushing to the nearest fighter while drawing her sword. "What's going on?! Why, in Talos' name, is there a giant this close to the city?!" The red headed nord turned to face her as she notched another arrow in her bow, she was wearing nearly no armour, just furs and pauldrons and had three stripes across her face.

"We don't know, it must have wandered over from Secunda's Kiss; the owner of this farm paid us to take it out, but we're having some trouble." She fired the arrow and hit the beast square in the face, forcing it to let out a deafening howl of pain and to smack the ground with it's enormous club, sending out tremors and causing everyone to lose their footing momentarily. The beast took advantage of the group's temporary disorientation and swinging his club toward the only male in the group, sending him flying into the fence on the edge of the field.

"Farkas!" The nord cried out and rushed to her comrade as Frida regained her composure and rushed towards the giant. It had turned around to face the remaining member of the group and was completely unaware of her approach. It howled as a sharp pain shot up it's right leg, falling to it's knees. The nord on the other side yelled her thanks as Frida continued to hack away at the giant's legs, blood spurting everywhere, the rags it wore torn to shreds. She nimbly dodged it's arms as they swung around, trying to swat the cause of it's pain away and jumped onto one as it passed, stabbed her sword deep below the elbow. Drawing a dagger, she scaled the monstrosity like a rock wall, stabbing it repeatedly, alternating between dagger and sword until she reached the neckline where she plunged both weapons deep, the bellows it had been roaring a second before replaced with gurgles as blood filled its lungs and it plunged towards the ground, a loud boom resonating throughout the mountains as it landed. The body twitched, before coming to rest completely. Frida jumped down, wiping the thick sludge-like blood from her face and weapons before sheathing them and turning towards the trio. The man was being carried on the shoulders of the two women, completely out cold when she reached them.

"Well, there you go, one less giant. Now, I need a bath." She gazed at the city walls, longing for the warmth of one at The Bannered Mare. "What's going to happen to the body?"

"We'll dispose of it later. I'm Aela the Huntress by the way. This is Ria," she gestured to the other woman, "And this is Farkas." She gestured at the unconscious man. "You know, you handle yourself pretty well, you'd make a pretty good shield-sister. Maybe you should talk with Kodlak Whitemane up at Jorrvaskr."

Frida was taken aback by the offer; she had always journeyed alone except for Frost, she had never considered joining with anyone, let alone the companions. Hesitantly, she replied "I'll… Think about it."

"Well, maybe you could accompany us to the city. Farkas needs to recover at the hall, and you can discuss it with Kodlak." With that, the trio set off towards the city and Frida headed towards her steed before following.

They parted ways as the guards opened the city gate, the Companions continuing on towards their mead hall while Frida dismounted outside of Belethor's, tying Frost's reins to a nearby support beam. She paused at the door to summon all the mental strength she had to not cleave the slimy weasel's head from his shoulders before entering.

"Welcome to Belethor's General Goods, everything is for sale… Everything!" The Breton leaning on the counter recoiled slightly at the sight and smell of her as she walked over to him.

"Not looking to buy," she stated as she slammed her pack down in front of him, emptying the contents along the wood, causing Belethor to flinch and quickly withdraw his arms from the wood as several trinkets spilled out. "How much will you give me for these?"

Quickly regaining his composure, the Breton picked up a few of the gems, peering at them before nodding his head in satisfaction and setting them aside. A golden circlet caught his gaze, and he snatched it up quickly while rummaging under the counter, bringing up a small metal disc, not much bigger than a Septim with which he tapped the intricate piece of jewelry and smiled with delight. "The gems I'll give you 1500 for, but this beauty, hmmm…" The weaselly shopkeeper's brow furrowed as he contemplated how much gold he would have to part with. "3000," he finally sighed. "Just so happens I have a buyer looking for just such an item. It's your lucky day." He chuckled dryly as he retrieved a coin purse from beneath the counter and counted out Frida's payment. Once he placed it on the table, she scooped the pile of coins into her own purse, picking up her pack and swiftly exiting the store. "Do come back." Belethor's sleazy voice trailed after her as she closed the door. "Maybe after you take a bath." He muttered under his breath as he examined the circlet he had just purchased.

Outside, Frida peered up at the enormous keep that sat atop Whiterun's highest point, the building that had, at one time, trapped a dragon; Dragonsreach. Making her way through the market, she peered up at the wooden structure and thought about that fact; how did Olaf One-Eye manage to trap a dragon in a building that was largely made out of wood? Surely the beast would just burn the whole place to ash. She shook her head and chuckled in derision. "I guess some legends are legends for a reason."

Reaching the large wooden doors that opened into the sprawling great hall, she was stopped by a guard. "Halt. State your business."

Not wanting any more fuss than was necessary, she pulled out the bunch of bounty papers she had scrunched into her pocket the day before. "Turning these into the Steward." The guard leaned in closer to peer at the scribbles on the paper through her helmet before nodding and allowing her entry. The immense doors swung inward, revealing several members of the Jarl's family and court sitting at the hall's long tables. The fire flickered from the draft the doors created as Frida entered, her eyes examining the hall for any sign of Avenicci. Spotting the Imperial digging into a meal at the far end of one of the tables, she strode over to him and slammed the bundle of crumpled bounty papers on the table beside his plate. The balding Steward looked up from his meal to see the expressionless Dragonborn's face staring down at him.

"Ah, yes, hello there." He set down his cutlery and started to dab at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "I presume that these are taken care of?" He waved his hand over the bounties.

"If by taken care of, you mean are they dead, then yes. Otherwise I wouldn't be back here." Frida leaned in close to the Imperial, her face mere inches from his, as she lowered her voice to growl. "But it wasn't nearly as easy as you said it would be."

Avenicci gulped as he leaned back. "Are you okay over there Proventus?" A gruff voice called over from behind Frida.

"Yes, yes Hrongar, everything is fine." He replied, attempting to sound reassuring, but the shakiness of his voice gave him away. Either way, the nord gave him the benefit of the doubt and went back to stuffing his face with whatever beast's meat he had been tearing into previously, juice running down into his beard. Disgusted by the large man's lack of table manners, Frida turned back to face Avenicci. "What is it exactly you want from me?" He whimpered, shrinking down in his seat under her gaze.

"Well, the bounties were pretty low, considering how many bandits I had to kill to even reach their leaders…" She trailed off, patting the pile of papers. "Some extra compensation for my time and effort would be nice."

"O-of course! I'm sure I can increase the payment!" The Imperial hastily got to his feet and started to head towards the stairs at the back of the hall. "I shall just go and fetch the gold from the treasury!" He scuttled off so fast you would think Frida had shoved a red hot poker up his arse. She gazed around the hall, marvelling in the beauty of the craftsmanship; the intricately carved arches between the pillars, the arcing beams overhead… Her gaze shifted to the dragon's skull hanging on the wall.

"You definitely could have burnt this place to the ground." She chuckled to herself before heading towards the wizard's quarters, retrieving the cube from her pack on her way. She reached the door to Farengar's rooms just when her gaze was drawn to the object in her hand, the script wrapping itself around the rugged edges, mesmerising the nord. She traced her finger along the words absentmindedly as they moved; someone was whispering to her in a language she was sure she had never heard before, but one that seemed so familiar. She stood in the doorway, enthralled by the whispering object; she didn't even notice the nord in long dark robes approaching until he knocked into her, sending the cube and the books he was carrying tumbling to the ground. She dropped to her knees in an effort to pick up the cube, which had slid under a bookshelf inside. "Shor's Bones, watch where you're going basket hea-" She stopped as she realised who had walked into her.

"Hello there Dragonborn, Frida wasn't it?" Farengar gathered his books up off the ground with a wave of his hand before they flew into his quarters and landing in a haphazard pile on his desk, next to goblets filled with differing sizes of soul gems. "I'm sorry about walking into you, I was contemplating whether or not it would be possible to transfer several lesser souls into a larger soul gem. The ramifications could be enormous…" The wizard trailed off as his mind started to wander back to his theory, before snapping back. "Did you need something?"

Frida brushed a lock of hair from in front of her eyes behind her ear. "Oh, it's, uh… It's okay." She smiled at the wizard before gathering her wits and turning back towards the bookcase the cube had slid under. "Yes, I found an interesting object while collecting a bounty yesterday, but it slid under this bookcase when you walked into me. I can't seem to reach it." She attempted to stretch her arm towards the cube as the sentence finished to demonstrate her point.

The mage chuckled softly as he waved his hand, causing the cube to fly out from under the bookshelves to land next to the teetering pile of books. "Oh yes, this certainly is interesting." Walking over to his desk, Farengar inspected the object. "Definitely of Dwemer origin, a Lexicon if I'm not mistaken. Alas, I cannot say much more, this isn't my area of expertise. It has a certain attraction though…" His voice trailed off as his finger traced the swirling text absentmindedly, his eyes misted over and the colour started to drain from his face. Frida walked over to him and place her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake, jogging the wizard out of the trancelike state; colour returned to his face as his eyes unmisted. He turned his head to face her and seemed flustered. "How strange… it started whispering things to me in an obscure Mer dialect, presumably Dunmer. Unfortunately, I do not have the required knowledge to translate it, though I do know someone who might; Calcelmo. He's an Elven mage working out of Understone Keep in Markarth I met while I studied at the College… He has made it his life's work to study the Dwemer. If anyone will be able to tell you what this is, it's him." He turned away to rummage in a drawer, withdrawing a small cloth bag. "In the meantime, may I suggest leaving it in this bag?" Covering the Lexicon, he picked it up and handed it back to her. "If that is all, would you kindly leave? I have things to do."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, I guess I'll take it to him then." She was slightly taken aback by the abrupt tone his voice had taken, but placed the pouch in her pack anyway before turning to leave. She looked over her shoulder at the mage, uttering her goodbyes, and re-entered the large hall. Spotting the Steward standing near the crumpled pile of bounty papers she had left on the table with large pouch in his hands and a worried look on his face, she decided to have a little fun with the skittish Imperial and hugged the wall, sticking to the shadows as she quietly made her way to the other side of the room. Padding her way up behind him, she clamped her hand down on his shoulder. "Ah Proventus! This is my considerable compensation I presume!" Her voice boomed out across the hall as the balding Steward leapt into the air, letting out a squeal of terror, causing him to drop the pouch, which landing on the floor with a loud clunk. A few coins spilled out onto the wooden floor and rolled away. "By the Nine man! Look at what you have done, my coins are scattering!" She chuckled as he fell to his knees, scrabbling to pick up the Septims before they rolled too far and picking up the pouch when he was done.

"H-here you go miss," Avenicci stuttered as he handed her the gold. "Your payment in full as originally p-promised, plus compensation for extra t-trouble; 7500 Septims." Frida took the bag from him, swinging it into her pack as she watched the Imperial walk quickly out the hall. She made to leave just before feeling a large hand rest on her shoulder, followed by a familiar gruff voice.

"There is no need to treat him in such a manner." She turned to see the Nord that Avenicci had identified as Hrongar earlier standing behind her, she had only known him as the Jarl's Thane. "He may not be suited to give my brother advice, but my brother thinks fondly of him. He is the Steward after all." He sniffed before covering his nose with his free hand. "And next time you take a trip to a Jarl's keep, think about bathing first." Frida shook herself free from the man's grip, refusing to answer and hurriedly making her exit out into the open air of the city.

She climbed down the flights of stairs leading into the market in the city centre, stopping to buy supplies; a couple hunks of bread, she managed to talk down the price of some of the larger chunks of beef and happened to spot a couple of unattended sweetrolls that somehow found their way into her pack before mounting Frost and heading for the gates. She stopped down the street and looked back at the inn, debating whether or not she should waste a night just to bathe. Deciding against it, she urged her steed onwards, spotting a familiar face heading out of the city as she reached the gates. "Greetings, Aela was it?"

The Companion turned to face Frida as she saddled her own horse, smiling in recognition. "Hello there. Did you venture up to see Kodlak in the end?"

"No, I don't have time. I'm heading out for Windhelm right now." Frida pulled Frost over to the side of the road to continue the conversation out of the way of anyone passing by. "What about you? You seem like you're about to head off on an exciting adventure." She nodded to the others in the group, recognising one of them from the Giant encounter before. "Wasn't he injured by the giant?"

"Hmm?" Aela looked around to the Nord she had pointed out. "Oh no, this is Vilkas, that was Farkas. They're twins." They all mounted their horses as Aela turned back towards Frida. "We're actually heading towards Riften, if you would like the company. The open road is a dangerous one." The Dragonborn mulled the thought over, she didn't usually take company with her when she was traveling, but she had overheard some talk about a band of outlaws that had set up camp in the old ruins of Valtheim Towers around the market. A few extra pairs of hands wouldn't hurt, so she agreed to journey with them and they party set out down the road towards the mountains.

* * *

The sun was starting to set when they group finally parted ways outside of Fort Amol; the tales of bandits had turned out to be true, but they had decided to leave the large party alone without too much hassle and the rest of the journey had been uneventful after that. Saying their goodbyes, the companions headed south towards Riften as Frida gazed after them; they had been a merry band of people of various races; she had never had much contact with the Companions in the past and this trip had enlightened her as to just who they were. She sighed as she headed north, towards the snowcapped mountains that Windhelm was nestled between.

She continued along the road for a while before spotting an opening in the rock across the river. Nudging her steed down towards the riverbank, she started to cross the slow moving water. Frost whinnied and bucked slightly as the river got deeper, but Frida urged her onwards until they reached the other side. The Nord dismounted and led her steed up towards the cave where she examined her surroundings; it was far enough away from the road to not be easily spotted by passing bandits, far enough away from the river to not be disturbed by it and sheltered enough to not get wet if it rained, so she set up camp. She struggled once more to light the fire using the magic that Farengar had taught her, however, this time it came with much more ease than last time as the hunk of meat she speared over the flames cooked in no time.

Having unsaddled Frost, she shed all her armour and took the beast by its reins to lead it back down to the river; she still needed to wash and Frost could do with a drink. Reaching the bank, she stripped down, leaving her clothes and scabbard on the riverbank she slipped into the icy waters and shivered. She would have much preferred to have done this back at Whiterun with hot water, but she wanted to get this meeting in Windhelm over with as soon as she could and didn't want to ride into the Stormcloak's capital still stinking of dead giant.

After thoroughly scrubbing herself down, she swiftly exited the river and donned her clothes again, before leading Frost back up towards the cave. As she drew closer, she saw shadows flicker across the rocks surrounding the cave. Frida cursed under her breath instantly. "Wolves. Talos be damned." She rounded the corner and saw a full grown wolf accompanied by two younger wolves; the older one was at least twice as large as the younger ones, an Alpha on a hunting trip with it's pups. She drew her sword as it pulled its face up from the meat it had pulled from on top of the fire and started growling at her, causing the younger pups to look up from the packs they had ripped open and eaten their way through and join in the chorus of snarls. Frida edged around the cave carefully, making herself appear as large as possible while readying her sword to strike as soon as she got close enough, the wolves heads following her around the wall as the Alpha prepared to pounce.

Seconds later, the powerful spring-loaded hind quarters sprung into action as the larger beast lunged at her, but Frida was faster, shifting her body so that he missed, the snapping jaws flying inches past her face and smacking into the wall. The wolf yowled in pain and she took advantage of the wolf's distracted state to stab her sword clean through one of its hind legs. She only wanted to injure the animal if possible. Hopefully this would cause it to back off and the pups would follow, and sure enough the large beast hauled itself up and slinked off into the night, limping on it's injured limb as Frida scared the younger pups into following.

She sighed as she looked around the cave and rummaged through what was left of her packs; the wolves had helped themselves to everything but a few of the vegetables. Cursing under her breath, she set to cooking up what was left and being glad there was at least that, it was definitely better than the Skeever meat she had been forced to survive on for the past few days. She settled down to sleep as the fire died, falling into a restless sleep where dreams of dragons, a mysterious figure, wizened mage and a strangely clad man haunted her.

Hours passed as she slept, until awoken by a thunderous roar echoing through the peaks, causing rocks to roll loose down the mountainsides. Suddenly alert, Frida jumped up and rushed outside, scanning the skies until she spotted the culprit in the distance. Saddling Frost, she mounted her steed as quick as she could and urged her onwards. "Ride on girl, it's dragon killing time."


End file.
